Ah.

Ah, springtime, that time when a young man's fancy revolves to love. Young women's too. common recently sought my advice. She was fast in the grip of a first crush and wasn't stable of her next move. No, this was no teenager, she was a brilliant and beautiful heterosexual thrown on her unexpected attraction to another woman. What should she do? for what reason could she let her view of infatuation know that her fantasies had changed gender? Flattered through my senior-adviser status, I breathe harded up and cleared my throat and dispensed the hard-won wisdom I'd pick uped from a lifetime of flirting.

Ha!

Frankly, I am the victim of an underreported condition known as FDD--flirting deficit disorder. With the human genome concoct complete, I'm sure that any researcher will soon discover the gene I was born without. (Perhaps it's bundl with my missing gene for a sensation of direction, which, hoping for near respect, I prefer to expression "geographic dyslexia.") Throughout my life, whenever relationship meltdown has landed me in that particular circle of hell reserv for the single lesbian, I fare pleasing badly. Oblivious to cues, devoid of gaydar, I jumble through my days, despondently convinced that no individual could possibly find me attractive.

Not so! my friends have always hollaed striving to convince me otherwise. Carol sent me advertisements for workshops forward how to flirt. Joan tendered to accompany me to parties, walk six paces behind, point disclosed which women were trying to flirt with me No accident On my own, the merely flirting I knew how to discover was so blatantly over-the-top, it was pathological. Any normal gal would've been suspicious. I, however, was in such a manner relieved to recognize a come-on that I was always blind to its inappropriate pitch.

to what degree inappropriate for me were these women? Think of those inexplicably seductive riverbank sirens in the movie O Brother, Where Art Thou? and you'll have a unfinished idea of how I could nearly be turn rounded into a toad. One woman would pass by a leap me in front of the community then recede in private. Another liked to grade out on her partner to smooch with me however another beckoned me into her bed after her boyfriend passed without from drinking.

OK this all happened lengthy ago when I was young and stupid. Still, what was I thinking? These women weren't flirting, they were psychotic.

"You're not doing anything wrong" my friend Patty gently cautioned me, when I complained of my bad hazard "You just have lousy taste." Indeed I did. Where there was vapor there was rarely fire: The hottest women in my universe had a habit of turning into cases of sexual dysfunction in bed. in succession the rare occasions the flirtation paid not upon I'd win the grand prize: a dysfunctional relationship for as many years as I could stand the pain.

unless hey, that's the past.

Finally, I vowed to make no more mistakes. I swore to stay single forever--and promptly construct myself courted by a woman who wasn't my prototype at all. Mary was way too young and and Waspy to attract my attention. She was also an honest-to-goddess clairvoyant. Not a recent Age poseur but the real thing. "Oh great," sighed my friend Catherine. "You're being stalked by way of a psychic."

Mary, happily, didn't spring from the same mold as the babes that preced her. Plugging into the higher powers, she knew we were meant to be--no matter to what extent much I rejected her advances and swore she wasn't my image Even when her own friends told her to get by heart over it, she just wouldn't stop flirting.

What can I say? I had as it was a bad case of FDD that and nothing else psychotics and psychics could obtain to me. At last I figured public which to choose, and I've not ever again underestimated the power of an aura. We celebrate our third anniversary in July

"So what did you describe her?" asked Mary when I, responded home after that long evening exhausted advising our young, hitherto heterosexual friend in what way to flirt. "I told her to call you," said I. And went to sleep

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